Byron lunged, and the fog tore open around him.
He did not move like the dead. The Commander crossed the distance in a way that warped timing and depth, boots pulverizing asphalt as though the world itself bent to accommodate him. Victor barely registered the angle of attack before instinct took over. Fire roared along his wings, ice crystallizing at their edges as he launched upward to meet him head-on.
The collision split the street.
Victor crashed through the rusted shell of a bus, metal screaming as it folded inward. Byron skidded backward, carving trenches through the ground before stopping himself with a single heel. He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders like a man loosening stiff joints, and his eyes locked immediately on Felicity.
Snow Team and Ivan's people surged together without orders.
